Ti Amo
by The Last Letter
Summary: Tony wants Ziva to know what he's feeling, but he doesn't have the courage to tell her. So he hatches a brilliant plan: tell her in Italian! Too bad Tony forgets that Ziva speaks Italian. Tiva.


Anthony DiNozzo was _not_ a coward. Anthony DiNozzo was anything but a coward. However, sometimes things spooked him a little. Not a whole lot, mind you, just enough to make his heart pound a beat faster, for his knees to get a little shaky and his mouth to grow dry. This usually passed quickly. And he would be able to move on, forget about it, crack a joke to make Ziva and McGee forget about it too.

But there was one thing that had Anthony DiNozzo permanently petrified, and part of it was himself. Yes, himself. He was terrified of how he felt every time Ziva got a little too close. Every time she sneaked up behind him, only to whisper in his ear. He could never come close to describing how amazing he felt around her. He knew that it was something very close to love, that if they had the chance to let these feelings blossom and flourish, those feelings would become love.

Of course, they could never have that chance. For one, Tony knew for a fact that Ziva could never return his feelings. _Ever._ It just wasn't the way she was. She would laugh when he chased yet another pretty girl, drink him under the table every time the team went out for a drink. She was like another one of the guys. And for another thing, if, by some outlandish, crazy, beautiful, miracle, Ziva _did_ return his feelings, he would never know. He wasn't going to say anything, and he knew her well enough to know that she would never pay attention to what she was feeling unless she was confronted by them.

So, by all reason, this would stay his secret until he died. And he would be perfectly okay with that. Except there was a problem. He was coming closer and closer to the brink of insanity, all because he couldn't touch her soft skin, kiss those lips, or see love reflected in those dark eyes. It was affecting his work. Probie kept pulling pranks and getting away with it, Ziva could make a hundred slip-ups a day and he would catch it, and yesterday he got fifty head slaps. He couldn't go on like this.

Tony tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets wrapping around his ankles. The clock numbers glared at him: _3:40_. "Think DiNozzo!" Tony moaned into the darkness. _"PENSA!"_ he exclaimed, shouting 'THINK!' in his own language.

Suddenly, a plan formed in Tony's mind. A brilliant plan. _I'll tell her_, he decided in the darkness. _I'll tell her everything . . . In Italian._ Feeling at ease with his plan, Tony relaxed onto the pillows. He could sleep tonight.

Tony had a problem. Well, if you wanted to get specific about it, Tony had two problems. His first problem was that his Italian was rusty. He didn't speak it on a regular basis, so it faded away into the back of his mind. He could speak it somewhat fluently, okay, quite fluently, but sometimes, the words just weren't there. His second problem was one that plagued men everywhere: what do you say to the girl? Especially when she asks why you're speaking Italian instead of your normal English.

Tony smacked himself in the forehead with his toothbrush, and tried a pep talk. "Calm yourself, DiNozzo. Ziva . . . Ziva will ask, but she'll take any excuse. Okay, now I need an excuse. I was, hmm. I was . . .Talking to family! Yes! That's it! I was talking to my Aunt on the phone in Italian, and forgot to switch back. So, what did I say to her . . . Nice weather. Yes! Weather is a safe topic! See, DiNozzo. You got nothing to worry about!" Tony flashed himself a smile in the mirror, but even his reflection wasn't buying it.

Tony ignored the mirror and grabbed his jacket. He didn't want to be late today. The entire drive, Tony had practiced his speech. "Ziva, I want you to know that I love you." "We've been friends for a while now, and I have these strong feelings for you." Needless to say, those speeches were all scrapped. But, he thought he had found the perfect one.

"Ziva, since I've gotten to know you, I've fallen for you more and more. And it's not just because you're beautiful. It's because you're smart, and funny, and there's no one else. What I'm trying to say is that . . . I love you." There. _Now, just translate that and away we go!_ Tony thought, a genuine smile on his face.

Luck was on his side. Ziva was the only one hanging around the bullpen. McGee was probably down with Abby, and he'd caught sight of Gibbs slinking off to the Director's office. _Deep breaths, _he reminded himself. _Deep breaths._ The advice was all well and good, but Tony went to his desk and began depositing his things in silence.

"Kitty got your tongue?" Ziva teased. She had used the wrong word on purpose. Tony was not looking himself today, and correcting her usually gave him a boost of confidence.

Tony took one look at her smiling face, and his entire, perfect speech, flew from his lips. "Ziva, da quando ti ho conosciuto, mi sono innamorato di te sempre di più. E non solo perché sei bella. E' perché sei intelligente e divertente e non c'è nessun altra. Quello che sto cercando di dirti è che... Ti amo."

Ziva looked at him. Really looked at him, and a ball of dread formed in Tony's stomach. Something wasn't right. This wasn't going according to plan. Right now, she should be asking why he was speaking Italian. Unless . . . A God awful thought ran through his mind. Ziva spoke roughly ten million languages. Why couldn't she speak Italian too? _Please let me be dreaming! _

"Cosa scusa?" _(Come again?) _Ziva exclaimed.

Oh dear Lord! She _did_ speak Italian! "Cosa?"_ (What?)_ Better to act stupid, like he didn't really know what he just said.

Ziva stood and narrowed her eyes at him. She crossed the space between their desks to stare him down, their chests almost touching. "So cosa hai detto. La domanda è: lo pensi davvero?" _(I know what you said. Question is: did you mean it?)_

Tony gulped. Then, made up his mind. He would see this through, he had to know what she thought, but, since this situation was turning him into a coward, he might as well keep acting like it, with a little bit of tough-acting grade school bully thrown in. "E se lo penso?" _(And if I did?)_

"Alora. . . " Ziva got as far as 'then' and was stuck. What if he meant it? What if he thought she was smart, and funny and beautiful? What if he did love her? "Alora dovrei dire ti amo." _(Then I would have to say I love you.)_ Both of them were taking a risk with this, and she was perfectly okay with it. It was going to have to come up sometime.

Tony was at a loss for words, a first for him. He always had something to say, but action did speak louder than words, and he was thrumming with energy, with adrenaline. He had been feeling extremely jumpy when he left this morning, and the tense bubble he now found himself in wasn't helping anything. Acting on impulse, going on his gut, Tony swept Ziva into his arms, and planted a kiss on her mouth.

It was softer, sweeter, better than anything he could ever have imagined. He began to explore her mouth, and soon realized he was going to run out of air before he had it all memorized. He held onto her lips for as long as he could, before he had to let go, burying his face in her hair.

"Ti amo." _I love you_ in Italian had never sounded so amazing. Ever.

"Ti amo." Except for when she said it.

***Thanks to **_**Lollie81**_** and**_** Aj**_** for corrections on Google's Italian. :P**

**I do not speak Italian. Only english. So, whatever you see here is courtesy of **_**Google Translator.**_** I don't own **_**NCIS**_** . . . How did I do?**

**~DI4MGZ~**


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